For The First Time
by Pick This Star
Summary: Because to Harry, saving Ginny Weasley was the most important thing in the world. At least whilst she was still there to be saved. "The moon's an arrant thief, and her pale fire she snatches from the sun." AU, HP/GW RW/HG
1. Prologue

There's nothing like waking up in the morning to your mothers screams, rain pounding on the roof, and your father cursing the boy who lived is there? Welcome to the war age, where no one is to be trusted, and there's danger around every corner.

For the first few seconds after the noises crash-bang into my ears, I lay there, in my bed, damp with sweat, breathing heavily. I reached over to my shiny bedside cabinet for my asthma inhaler. Who ever thought of an asthmatic witch exactly? Mother said she won't cure it until I'm sixteen, because it's dangerous. I think she just wants to see me suffer some more. After sitting up and regaining control of my respiratory system, I tuned myself in to the noises around me. It's not like this was unusual occurence. Had we not had a reputation to uphold, I was fairly sure that the two would have divorced long ago. When I was younger, I used to sit on my bed, head on knees, hands covering my ears, sobbing, until long after they stopped fighting. When I was nine, I left that job to my brother, and instead, the emptyness fought its way inside of me, rendering me numb and useless, and it stayed. Now that I'm fourteen, and have long since grown used to my mothers screams, and my fathers filthy language unfit for the ears of a minor, I just block it out. Switch on the wireless, do some work, write letters and send them with Mia, my snowy owl. Whatever. Today, I simply burrow under the covers ad take myself away to my happy place. That's what the healers at St. Mungos said to do when I felt one of my fits coming on. I suppose I inherit those from my father, the fits of rage. Not that I inherit much else from them. Sometimes I like to daydream that I'm adopted. I once said that to my mother, and she hit me. That's the only time she's ever touched me. I still have nightmares about it.

"Mary," I spoke into the darkness, hoping for the familiar, if sniffly, presence of our house elf.

"Mistress?" There was a loud crack and I peeked out from underneath the covers to see the tiny, pathetic elf sniffing on the carpet, her large eyes watering, as they often do.

"Why are they fighting?" I asked.

"Mistress Lyra is angry. Master Perseus has been doing secret business. Mary did not hear much, Mistress Ginevra, Mary is sorry," Mary quivered a little.

"That's alright, Mary. Would you mind bringing me some breakfast? Toast would be nice," I managed a weak smile.

So father had been doing 'secret business' again. That would be the third night that fortnight. I know what my mother thought, and if I am honest, I couldn't help thinking that too. We are Malfoys. We are expected to serve the dark Lord. And with his return, all of his old followers have been called upon again. Which means my father. Even though my mother made him promise not to ever go back to that life.

"_My brother and I _have a duty, Lyra!" I could hear snippets of their rapidly escalating shouting match. "Lucius... duty... _will not_ divulge private information... Ginevra..." hearing my name bought me crashing back down to earth. They had never discussed me before, at least, not loudly.

I stood up, decidig they were probably arguing over who would get custody of me if there was a divorce or something. The huge mirror with the golden edge shone directly in front of me, reflecting my huge room. I stepped into its view, and studied my form. My hair was long and auburn, but lacked shine, turned brittle through lack of sunlight.

My skin was paper pale, and looked almost trasparent, so that if someone looked closely enough, and for a long enough time, they would be able to see through my skin, and watch my heart beating. My eyes; blue, and flecked with sea and sky and cornflower and midnight. My lips; crimson and chapped through lack of moisture and too much nibbling. I was skinny, as there were days when my mother said I didn't need food because I was too ill, although I felt fine. As I dressed, I prodded my ribs, which were rather too prominent for my liking, showing up against my white skin. I frowned, pulling on a white blouse and black pleated skirt. As I was brushing my hair, Mary appeared back, with a silver tray and four slices of toast, a silver knife, and silver bowls filled with two kinds of jam, and two kinds of marmalade. On the side was a tall glass of orange juice. I thanked Mary, and she cracked away to tidy our too big, too empty house, and I sighed, settling down at my cherry wood desk to eat.

Once I had eaten all four slices of toast, but left the crusts, I settled down to do some potions worl sheets. My father was against practical work, so I did all my work through theory. I had to work even when everyone else had a summer holiday, or a Christmas. I have never been to school.

"Ginevra?" My mother knocked at the door around eleven a.m. Normally she would send Mary to fetch me, or occasionally Nelly, the cook house elf.

"Come in," I looked up, wondering what she wanted.

"Ginevra," She entered the room, her eyes pink and damp, her dark hair ruffled but still quite neat. How curious, I thought, not for the first time, that a man with platinum blonde hair, and a woman with chocolate brown hair should create a child with hair like fire. "Your father and I have had a discussion." I raised my eyebrows at this.

"Concerning what?" I asked.

"Many things," my mother could not meet my eyes. "But," she took a deep breath, straightening my bed clothes absent mindedly, "in light of recent events," like the dark lord coming back, I thought silently, "I have decided that it's too dangerous to remain here, Ginevra." Too dangerous? I thought my father was on the dark side, so where was the danger?

"Where are we going then?" I asked, confused.

"I am staying here," finally she met my eyes, "you, however, will be attending school."

"School?" I burst out.

"Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. The headmaster has agreed to take you on as a fourth year. You will leave next month."


	2. Chapter 1

**Soooo this is my new fic :). I don't know if it's any good, but its really fun to write! Review and rate PLEEASE and I will be greatful for ever! This idea was accidental I guess. I went to watch Deathly Hallows last night, and it just sort of...came to me. Oh yeah, my N key isn't very reliable, so if you see a word like ad, imagine there's an n between the a and the d. Got mee? :). Anyways obviously I don't own HP etc. I do however own a set of HP stamps which tbh are pretty cool.**

I had only ever been to Diagon alley once before, when I was eleven years old and needed books and such for my secondary education, even though it was at home. Usually my mother or father would buy books for me, but mother had seemed absent minded that day, and father was absent full stop. My parents never really let me go anywhere where lots of people were, especially if they were magical, as she told me that it was too dangerous, and because I was frail I would catch something. As I grew older I began to doubt this, although I did feel lifeless quite often.

Diagon alley was very long, and shops were crammed in. I don't remember it being as packed as it was when I was eleven. A few people had nervous, wild looks in their eyes, and I noticed some black market dealing in shadows or down dark, smelly alleyways. Diagon alley appeared to have lost some of its magic. Perhaps that was simply because my life had lost its magic since then, my childhood innocence long fled. However, the street still smelled of gingerbread and something fizzy, the majority of people remained cheerful and chatty, and I was still amazed by some of the items in the shops.

Mother had recieved my letter a few days before she broke the news to me, and I was to go to a sorting alone, in private, as I wasn't a first year, and the headmaster thought that this would be the easiest way for me to settle in. Mother and father were to drop me off at school before all the students arrived. I wasn't sure how I felt about the whole thing. It had been drummed into me for years that I was too frail to go to school, that home education was the best way to learn, that I was too good to mix with mudbloods and blood traitors. Yet I still had't been told the real reason why I was attending school. And that made me have an uneasy feeling at the pit of my stomach. Ot made me scared.

We spent the minimal amount of time purchasing school supplies. Our last stop was to the owl emporium, where mother bought me an eagle owl, not so different from my cousins. I decided to name him Cai. He was my new companion. I had never been allowed many pets before, because of my allergies. I was quite hungry by the end, but mother insisted we had to get going, as we were going to Malfoy Manor later on. I just sighed, I was used to that by now.

Mother apparated us home, and I took all my things upstairs to put away, and I tried on my uniform. It didn't have house colours on it yet, but I was expected to uphold the family tradition by being sorted into Slytherin. '_Wouldn't life be better in another house?_' Was the thought I now had to suppress daily. I liked my uniform. It made me look sort of normal, instead of the girl in the too big designer clothes. I flicked through a few of my books, and found that was miles behind in most of the work. So much for home education being better. Just another thing to make me dread going to school.

"I'm not so sure I want to go to Hogwarts, mother," I voiced my opinion over cups of tea as we waited for father to get home.

"Whatever are you talking about, Ginevra?" Mother looked up from spooning sugar ito her cup. I wasn't allowed sugar in tea. It rots teeth.

"I'll miss you and father terribly," I frowned. Although, to be honest, I wasn't sure if I would. "And I'm behind on the work."

"You'll catch up in no time, a bright spark like you," Mother attempted a smile, but it just looked like she was in pain.

"Hmm," I nibbled my lip again.

"You're going, Ginevra. Anyway, Draco will be there, it'll be like it was when you were younger again." That I doubted.

When Draco and I were infants, we were forced together by our parents, locked in the playroom together with just a house elf and each other for company. So we played with each others antique, valuable toys, which were more in place on collectors shelves as oppose to in the sticky hands of children. Of course our hands were never allowed to be remotely sticky.

As we grew older, and left the toys behind, we became sort of friends. We were expected to be friends, being more or less the same age, and cousins, so thats sort of what we became. The two of us led lonely existances, so we weren't picky on the subject of friends.

The two of us were home schooled until Draco went to Hogwarts when I was ten. From when I was about seven to nine, we were taught together. Every day, I would go to his house, usually by side apparition, because the floo network was 'far too dirty', and the knight bus 'far too common', and of course, I would 'fall off of a broomstick' and break my neck. We were taught in Malofy Manor, by the house elves, or rarely by our parents. Sometimes we would have complicated lessons, but other times we would be left to our own devices with a textbook to read or notes to copy out. It was these days that the two of us craved. On summer days we would sit out in the orchard watching the peacocks, and lazily talking to each other, or playing hide and seek, or very occasionally, when no adult was in sight, Draco would teach me Quidditch. Quidditch was the very definition of magic. Autumn bought the kicking of leaves, burying each other in the crackly russet, and picking the last few cider apples. With winter came making footprints in the fresh snow, secret snowball fights, and huddling over candles in jars telling stories. In the spring we snuck out into the rain and danced to the wizarding wireless, helped the elves with the gardening, and often watched the beautiful sunsets. Both of us were quick learners, so we spent minimal time reading those awful text books. We were never bored, and we spent five days a week for three years alternating between this and boring lessons in a dull classroom.

Then, when Draco turned ten and a half, our golden days were ended, and he was shut in a classroom with a private tutor until he left for Hogwarts. He became more sullen during those final months, and seemed almost to think he was too good for the likes of me. Which _I didn't mind_, anyway, because we were never friends. It didn't do to have friends. Last time I had seen Draco was at Easter, when he was home for his fourth year easter holidays. We had sat in stony silence for three hours whilst our parents were downstairs drinking and talking in hushed tones. I cried when I got home, and I'm not really sure why.

**So that was the first proper chapter. idk what to call it, any suggestionos? PLEASE R&R. **


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